He's There For You When He Shouldn't Be
by FromPrussiaWithLove
Summary: Gilbert Weillschmidt, the school's history department head, thought everything was great, but he was easily proven wrong. Elizaveta Hedervary-Edelstein is at the end of the rope with her faith in her cheating husband. [Re-Write]
1. Chapter 1

**He's There For You When He Shouldn't Be.**

**Summary:** Gilbert Weillschmidt, the school's history department head, thought everything was great, but he was easily proven wrong. Elizaveta Hedervary-Edelstein is at the end of the rope with her faith in her cheating husband. [Re-Write]

**Chapter 1.**

I could pretend and tell you that I didn't see any of this coming, but that would be a flat out lie. I used to take things as is; who was I to judge? Exactly, I wasn't. However, I can only go so far, pretending that we are all in Camelot. The last straw that broke my resolve? It wasn't the divorce papers on my desk this morning; it wasn't the fact that my soon-to-be ex-wife is already replacing my ring with her new fiancé's. The last straw was when I saw them fucking on my bed and when she kissed him at the end of the Student-Faculty basketball game. Here I thought we were all okay; well, okay for our standards. Okay for us? She and I were up late grading papers, and my brother was up late keeping his and his school's band teacher's secret. That was okay. Where do I go now?

I sit back in my chair as I monitor today's Socratic seminar, so I can assign a participation grade. It's always the same three people that have a triangle of a discussion within the first discussion. The second discussion is dead because they didn't do the little bit of homework that I give to begin with. I mindlessly check names as I hear familiar voices. I try to fill out the attendance for the day. The same two people aren't here; they've never been to a single seminar this entire year. How sad. My left hand brushes those divorce papers I mentioned before. She has already signed it in her loopy handwriting that I have grown so used to. No counseling, no talking, she just went to _him_ for a good time and then fell in love with _him_. She never even tried. I look around the room; half the students outside of this discussion are writing their mandatory five questions now. The other half is doing math or science homework.

"Marijuana becomes an issue here; doesn't it, Mr. W?" I snap back to the discussion when a girl who prefers to be called 'Ray.'

"Well, sure, but you know, all the 'Baby Boomer' presidents have smoked pot; well, save Clinton. But he did it, just didn't inhale. Guess he just liked the taste of it." They laugh and go back to their discussion. I miss that carelessness when you're that age.

–i–

I open the door to my townhouse and throw my keys on the counter. I run a hand through my hair as I open the fridge with my other hand. I hear the door open behind me, and seconds later, I see Ludwig's hand reaching for a beer.

"Hey, my money, my beer." I grab his hand.

"You sound like Dad." He retorts flatly as he grabs a beer regardless of what I said.

"Well, keep drinking, maybe it'll bring you down to average brain level." I joke.

"Fuck you." He hisses.

"So, Chiara again?" I ask; my eyebrow instinctively arching.

"She says that maybe it's all in her head and that no one ever helps her figure anything out; then I told her 'maybe if you told me what you think is in your head, I could help!' She said I wouldn't understand because I'm too young. Bullshit." He pops the cap of his beer.

"She's nervous, you know? Having a relationship with a student is as frowned upon as incest."

"She's driving me crazy; I'm not even her student." He runs his hand through his hair. "Besides, next year is my senior year, and after that, no one will give a shit about what she and I do."

"True, I'm working at your school next year." I state mindlessly.

"You can't change my mind."

"I know; who am I to intervene with love?"

"Madeline called, announcing that the meeting between your lawyers is tomorrow."

"You know what we're discussing at this meeting, right?"

"Whether or not you're stable enough to be a parent guardian for a _child_ like me."

"Of course."

–i–

Being a history buff, I enjoy sitting on my couch and watching _the Hatfields & the McCoys_. Ludwig sits next to me, buzzed out of his mind. He just sits and stares at the T.V. There is a knock at the door, and I can feel my body go numb and my muscles tense in anticipation of having to face Madeline again before she becomes Mrs. Madeline Williams-Jones. Ludwig saunters over to the door slowly but surely. He opens the door and begins to say 'hello,' but he is soon cut off by something. I pause the docu-drama and stare in the direction of the door. The door is closed at the moment. Ludwig is holding Chiara in his arms, kissing her forehead. They say he's too young to understand these things, but it's obvious that they're wrong. For someone his age, he has to be the most understanding. Chiara's hands brush his neck as they kiss; their kiss is littered with words of apology and acceptance. He gently presses her against the door, and her hands press into his back. I turn back to the T.V. And begin playing the docu-drama again, and although I watch my history shows at a decently high volume, I can still hear them in his room. And I find myself jealous because his problems were fixed so easily, but mine will fester over time, getting worse and worse. I will reiterate, 'who am I to judge?' My marriage fell to shit, and now, my soon-to-be ex-wife is marrying the school's biggest tool, the gym teacher.

I finish episode three of the docu-drama trilogy, and I see Ludwig wander out of his room from the corner of my eye. He's wearing a pair of boxers, looks tired, but has a smile like the Cheshire Cat from _Alice in Wonderland. _

"I see that shit worked out." I remark as I stand up from the couch.

"I know." He smiles.

"I'm glad things turned out well for you, Lud." His smile drops a bit as he pads his way over to the couch.

"I forget sometimes." I arch an eyebrow in response. "I forget that you put up with everyone's shit, and I worry about you sometimes."

"I'm fine." I fake a smile.

"Dad said that and then he slammed his head into that bucket." Our father commit suicide, and then, incapable of recovering from the grief, our mother soon followed him. We're all that's left, and I worry that something may happen that pulls the two of us – all we have left of out family – apart for good. Either way, my life is beyond repair, and maybe this is for the best.

**A/N:** This is a re-write for a fic under the same title that I decided to re-write. Criticism is appreciated. I hope you enjoy it.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

Ludwig is taking the SAT this morning, regardless of how many times I told him that his scores already revealed him to be of great scholastic aptitude. He just reminds me over and over that 2250 is still not good enough, and I tell him that I got the modern-day equivalent of an 1850. And I turned out fine, education-wise. He did, however, drag me with him because of my evident SAT proctor capabilities, and he didn't want me moping around the house all morning. I really think it was just so Chiara could leave without things getting awkward because that happens _a lot_.

Today is cold, rainy, and just plain shitty, so there was a snowball's chance in hell that I _wanted_ to go to the SAT testing center and sit for four hours without any contact with the outside world. I figure that I could finish a book within that time period, so I decided to bring _Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter_ with me as a quick read. I really think this was a joke gift from Ludwig, but nevertheless, I'll read it.

We arrive at the center and part ways. Ludwig goes to the cafeteria to await the time when the chief proctor tells him and all the other students to go to their designated rooms for testing, and I go to the library to hear the seminar on the dos and don't s for proctoring this test. I swear that every bone in my body loathes me for ever considering this ever again, and the test hasn't even begun yet.

–ii–

In the end, I had four no-shows and some kid whose photo I.D. was not considered valid because his picture was of him and his dad which is against the rules of the testing company. Ludwig's class was one of the first ones finished, and shortly after, he was eager to march into the rain as long as it promised to bring him home. We sit in utter silence as I drive home; maybe his test didn't go as well as he'd hoped?

"So how's Chiara?" I don't really know why she's all I feel comfortable talking to him about.

"She's fine." He stares out the window.

"I'm glad you two fixed things between each other."

"I am too; I really love her, Gil." He unlocks his phone, and his phone wallpaper is a picture of the two of them. I remember when Madeline and I were like that, and I hope to whatever higher power there is that Ludwig won't ever have to experience my kind of problem. And that is why I worry about him dating his school's band teacher. She's a great person; I just worry about him being used.

"Of course you do." It comes out a little more sardonic than I intended.

"It's not like she's married or anything, so what's the big deal?"

"She's seven years older than you, Lud; I just worry that she's going to play you like a deck of cards."

"She's not like Madeline, you know." My grip tightens on the steering wheel.

"I hope not." I stare at the road.

"She's afraid that you hate her."

"I don't; I'm just frustrated recently."

"Who wouldn't be?"

"How do you think you did on the SAT?"

"Better, hopefully."

"I'm telling you that you don't need a 2400." I sigh as we pull into the driveway of our townhouse.

"It would be nice to get one though."

"Don't push yourself too hard."

"Same to you." He gets out of the car and goes to his room.

–ii–

This week is AP Exams and EOCTs week which means more proctoring. However, this year, the entire county is transitioning from traditional testing to electronic testing which is driving me crazy. It's amazing that I still haven't pulled out all of my hair. The students sit at the computers in the library awaiting the beginning directions which I will tastelessly read from a packet.

"Today, we are taking the U.S. History End of Course Test; to begin, check and make sure the name on the sheet I have given you is _your_ name and spelled correctly, then click the 'T' shaped icon on the desktop of the computer in front of you. However, I have personally seen the icon that they are talking about, and it looks _nothing_ like a 'T.' It looks more like a shark battling a blue ball." My eyes scan the page as the students proceed to click and open the testing program. "Check and make sure the web address in the navigation bar on the testing program is the same as the address on your paper, although it should probably be the _same_." Students double check the URL. "Hit 'GO.' After you have hit 'GO,' enter your login I.D. and your login pass-code that are printed on your paper. It is crucial that you get these codes correct. Hit 'login.'" Then I begin reading the generic, standardized test directions. My mind goes into auto-pilot, and my mind goes numb by the time that I finish as they begin to take their test. I sit at a table on the other side of the library and keep an eye on the students to make sure – even though I know they won't – they don't cheat. My eyes drift down to my own computer as I open my email. '5 New Messages.' I worry that I have missed out on something serious about this poorly organized standardized test, but I am relieved and more worried when I see that the emails are from Madeline.

All the emails are demands that I attend yet _another_ meeting between our lawyers to debate about the ownership of our things, when she knows she already owns them. She just wants it on paper to remind me. I reply to all her emails that she already owns everything anyway and that involving our lawyers will just waste more of the money I don't have. She replies with 'deal with it.' I run my hand through my hair, hoping that it will bring about some sort of magical calm, but it doesn't. I pull out a piece of paper and a pen and start to faintly sketch the silhouette of a man and a woman, but I stop myself. These kinds of pictures won't win her back, and the time spent on them won't help me get any better. I decide against my previous judgment and finish the picture. This is the end of the year and the last time that I will see Madeline, so I might as well give my farewell address and leave.

–ii–

Three months have passed since those troubling last weeks of the school year, and now, I'm tying my tie to make a new impression on both student and staff. Ludwig would rather take a bullet in his precious brain than attend the school that I now work in, but he's a senior which means we probably won't see each other anyway. Surprisingly, I got the job with an impressionable interview; the catch? I have to teach AP Government on the freshman level. The other US History teacher teaches the senior level AP government. The first day of school makes me feel like a transfer student. I don't know anyone, and no one knows me. I wander my way throughout the school, looking for my room. I bump into one of the history teachers that I met at the teacher orientation.

"Antonio?" I hesitantly ask, hoping I got his name right; he turns and smiles.

"Yeah, Gilbert, right?" I nod. "I'm the AP World History teacher, and I have the room right next to yours if you're having a hard time finding your room."

"Uh, yeah, you could tell?" I rub the back of my head nervously.

"A bit, but it's no big deal. I forget that it's easy to get lost here the first time around." He grabs my arm and pulls me along with him. "And the AP European History teacher will be across the hall from us! I have a feeling that Francis, you, and I will get along really well!"

"Sounds great." I agree quietly.

After Antonio's big meet-and-greet with Francis to 'unite the AP History teachers of the world,' since we all teach the history of the world, I begin to unpack my things and set up my room. I have an honestly large amount of posters to put up of random things pertaining to America's history. A knock on the heavy wooden door resonates throughout the room. I look at the door and meet eyes with a lovely woman. Her chestnut brown hair falls in waves down to her waist and is decorated with a simple flower, creating this soft aura to her presence. Her green eyes are mesmerizing, and I feel like I've seen her before.

"Hello," she answers my questioning stare. "You're Gilbert Weillschmidt? Sorry, if I butchered your name."

"Nah, you got it right." I smile; something about her makes me want to smile.

"Ah, well, I brought you some cookies as a welcoming gift; it's always kind of hard to get into the groove of a new school."

"Thank you, I'm sorry, but I can't place your name."

"It's Elizaveta, Elizaveta Hedervary." She places the Tupperware container on one of the desks. "I teach AP Language and Composition and AP Literature."

"Impressive."

"Thank you."

–ii–

I have seen her before, more than once in the news. She's married to some big pianist who tours the world to play his own concertos. I remember Chiara leaving someone of her musician news at the townhouse and talking about Elizaveta's husband. Roderich Edelstein, which I guess means her last name is really _Edelstein_. It is a bit upsetting that she is married, but I will keep my distance and refuse to be the Alfred Jones of her marriage. I look out the window at the downpour of rain, pick up an umbrella, put Aleks' leash on, and head out into the pouring rain for a walk. Surprisingly, six month old German Shepherd, Aleks, loves a little rain during a walk and trots along next to my side. After a few blocks of walking, I take a break and begin to turn when I spot a woman out of the corner of my eye. It's pouring rain, and she's out here without an umbrella. I approach her slowly, and the rain-blurred details refine themselves as I approach the woman. It's Elizaveta.

"Hey – I mean, hello." I restrain Aleks to keep him from jumping on Elizaveta.

"...Hi." She stares at the road. "I wonder, would a driver really be able to see me in this rain if I were to jump out in front of it?"

"Not really, I assume;" I hold the umbrella over her. "But you must be cold." She tightens her soaked coat.

"I'm fine, so don't get wet for my sake." Her eyes never leave the road.

"It's fine;" I laugh kindly. "Aleks is dragging me through the rain anyway, and when he isn't, he's jumping around and splashing puddles left and right."

"I said I'm fine." She shoves my arm with the umbrella away from her, placing her back in the downpour.

"Your husband is that famous pianist, right?"

"That's all anyone ever asks me."

"Sorry."

"_He_ should be _sorry_."

"But still."

"Still what? He should be sorry because he's the one who goes to Europe and whores his way around the continent while I get to sit _here_ and teach ignorant students how to write proper essays, so _they _can go to college! Then, he comes home and pretends that everything can be fixed with a bouquet of flowers!" She didn't want the umbrella because she was hiding her own tears. "I loved him, and what a fool that makes me! But I'm tired, Gilbert; I'm done with this. There is nothing for me to look forward to be–"

"You're wrong;" she stares at me. Her eyes narrow in inquiry. "No, she wasn't famous, but I've been cheated on and publicized as an idiot. It sucks, and it's unfair. No one should ever have to endure that sort of shit, but if I could prevent these things from happening, I would. I wish I could convince you that these things fix themselves, but sometimes they don't. I'm sorry."

"Tell me what happened to you." She requests.

"Let's get out of the rain." I offer.

"Okay," she takes my hand gingerly.

–ii–

I take three bath towels out of the closet, hand one to Elizaveta, place one on a chair, sit on the same chair, take the third towel, and begin to dry off Aleks. Elizaveta stares at the table.

"We were married for ten years." She begins to trace circles in the kitchen table. "Her parents said it was a mistake to get married so young. Maybe they were right. We got our teaching degrees and were set up for a good life. We applied at the same schools and were hired. I thought she was happy. She was one of the students' favorite art teachers, and I was the department head for history. And then, she came to me with the divorce papers and entailed all her secret trysts with the gym teacher to convince me to get out of her life. Word spread around school, and everyone knew that I was the idiot who pretended that all was well while my wife screwed our coworker behind my back. I grew impatient and stopped controlling my temper. I argued and yelled while taking my anger out on everyone else. Then, the self loathing came in over the summer when I sat in my bed for hours and pretended that I didn't exist. My point is that there is no way to avoid –" She kisses me; her hand runs through my hair. She pulls away seconds later. "Elizaveta."

"You are the first one to say that I am not crazy, jealous, or imagining everything." I run my hand through her hair and kiss her.

"How would anyone think you're crazy?"

"How could anyone leave such an amazing man like you?" She laughs inwardly. "I wish I met someone like you before I got married."

"I could say the same for you."

**A/N:** The reason for the re-write is that I realized that I am more of the history buff than a linguistics genius, so for things to actually be accurate, I had to change a few occupations here and there.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.


End file.
